Wealthy vampires   With the cold hands of executioners   Execute   Executive decisions   Determined to destroy   What 1 million women, children, and men   1910   Died, drowning in the rage of battle.   Mothers, half naked   Infants clutching thier necks   Running frantically   Tripping over the bodies of their sons   Teeth gnashing   Swinging machete   Spitting blood and mud, and screaming:   Land, and liberty!   Were erased.   Buried and burned   Along with the memory of the dead   Along with the ejido.   With the smooth stroke of a pen   And with the ghost of nixon present in their eyes   They smiled.   And pronounced the omnipitence   Of the free market   The profits of profit   Extending the scurge of columbus and pizarro   The freedom to buy things you can never afford   The freedom for indians to buy corn that once flourished overgrown in their backyards   The freedom to die of curable disease   The freedom to watch their children's stomachs swell and burst   The freedom to starve and die   Without land   Or liberty   But ramona, with eyes of obsidian   Peering through her blood and sweat drenched mask   Darding, unseen   Changing direction with the swiftness of a bird   Through the shanty's of the canyon   With every coyote, every insect, every phylum of life   Urging her, propelling her forward.   The leaves and branches of the forest   Part for miles, clearing her path   The voices and screams of the dead beneathe her feet   Echo in the deepest chasm of her soul   Hurling her, toward the city   History surging through her veins   Pulsing through her fingers   Hurling her, towards the city   She caresses her trigger   And the words of magome fulfil her being   And with each shot she fires, she affirms her movement   Saying:   Enough! enough!   No!   I will see my own blood flow   Before you take my land...or my liberty